


Ford's Eyeglasses

by Feech



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Ford is attracted to Susan, Hurt/Comfort, Mature Stan/Susan, Multi, Pie, Polyamory, S1 e16 Carpet Diem, Shapeshifting, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Werelynx Susan, brief Stanford/Stanley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 10:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feech/pseuds/Feech
Summary: Stan held Ford's glasses in both hands and rubbed the lenses with his thumbs. His voice cracked a little. "I hope he has a pair with him."





	Ford's Eyeglasses

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Channing](https://scrivnarium.wordpress.com/) for the beta read!

********

Stan wandered to Lazy Susan's. She opened the door. "Why—Stanley! I mean—Stan _ford_." She glanced about outside to make sure no one was listening. "Come inside. You knocked quietly. I didn't know it was you."

"Hi." Stan gave her a peck on the cheek.

The living room was dark. A cat lay serenely on one of the couches, its forepaws curled toward its chest. In the gloom near the floor, between an armchair and one of the two couches, a small, circular gleam blinked in and out like a distant headlight. The fringe at the bottom of the couch rippled, and Mr. Cat Face emerged and showed the gleam to belong to his one eye. He crossed the living room in front of Stan, giving a rude warning hiss, as if Stan had been planning to touch him.

A spotted kitten in the middle of an awkward phase, half shaggy, half smooth-coated, ran out of the kitchen, crying a greeting. "Mao! Mao, mao."

"Sparky recognizes your voice. She likes you, Stan," said Susan.

"Yeah." Stan's smile didn't reach his sad eyes. "She's my girl." He leaned down to rub the short fur on Sparky's nose, keeping a hand over his breast pocket to make certain Ford's glasses wouldn't slide out.

Susan asked, "What can I do for you, sweetheart? You look a little down."

Stan straightened. He removed Ford's glasses from his pocket, opened them and faced the lenses toward himself, gazed through them backward for a moment, and sighed. He turned the lenses to face Susan. "I shoved a bookcase in front of the door to Ford's room, thirty years ago. Soos moved it. He's always moving things."

Susan searched Stan's eyes for a moment. "I'm glad you came over. Go lie down in my bed. I'll get your coffee. Later on we'll see if you can take some apple pie."

Apple pie sounded distantly good, like a Stan from another world might devour some, but he couldn't do it here and now. He shucked his suitcoat and hung it in the living room, went to Susan's room and sank into the many layers of white quilts and pastel blankets on her bed.

Sparky hopped up, swished her tail, and gave a determined chirp as her warning to Stan that she was about to climb him. She put her forepaws on his upper arm and pulled herself up to perch on his shoulder. Her purr in his ear was like the hum of insects in a grassy field. The sound almost disappeared in the music of actual insects in the grass outside the window.

Susan brought Stan's coffee mug in one hand. Under her other arm she carried White Russian, her friendly, big, white cat with one brown ear. White Russian's squinty eyes gave him a smiling appearance. Susan unbent her elbow and deposited the cat on the bed. He began to clean between his rear toes, interspersing his purring with licking and toenail-picking.

Susan sat next to Stan and stroked his hair once over. As he sipped his coffee, Stan had Ford's glasses tucked between the last two fingers of one hand. When he finished, Susan set the empty mug on a coaster.

"Susan." Stan cleared his throat. "I'm embarrassed to ask. Could you do the thing?"

"Of course." Susan petted the hair over Stan's ear. She slid sideways off the deep bedding and went to her vanity chair, pulling out hairpins and letting her hair down on the way. She took up her hairbrush. From the bed, Stan could see in the mirror when Susan pulled a long, blue-grey lock of hair forward over her shoulder. Her hair became extra shiny when she drew the brush through it. The strands relaxed into looking softer than ever when she let go and caught up the next lock.

Watching Susan brush her hair had a mesmerizing effect on Stanley. He had blurted out the truth about his name one evening while she was doing her hair. He looked at Ford's glasses, held lightly with his fingertips across his knee. "I don't think I can keep doing this."

Lazy Susan turned in her vanity chair and gave Stan a sympathetic look with her right eye. After a minute, she crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, with her back to Stanley. She tilted her head down, and he knew it was a request for him to undo her dress buttons. He again kept Ford's glasses between the last two fingers of one hand.

When Susan was unbuttoned, she turned sideways to face Stan. "Are you making progress?"

Stan gripped the glasses, adding another thumbprint smear. "Yes. Not really. I'm stalled."

Susan held Stan's forearm. "I look forward to meeting your brother."

She rose and draped her dress over her vanity chair. Partway back to the bed, she paused and spread her fingers, which broadened into fuzzy toes. She went down on all fours, hunched her shoulders, tossed her head, and shapeshifted into a densely furred, roly-poly lynx. She made a casual leap for the foot of the bed, miscalculated, and her bottom slid off the end of the bedding. Her foreclaws snagged and raked the quilt, her back paws scrabbled, her luxuriantly tufted ears flattened. Stan hauled himself forward. Sparky was on his shoulder yet, and adjusted her weight down his shoulder blade to keep her place while Stan hefted Susan up by her wrists. "So much for werelynx super powers," he said.

Susan stuck her tongue out at him.

Stan held Ford's glasses in both hands and rubbed the lenses with his thumbs. His voice cracked a little. "I hope he has a pair with him."

Susan sprawled across Stan's lap and invited ear and neck rubs. Her purr penetrated his clenched chest and stomach.

Mr. Cat Face alighted on the bed like a spiky shadow and hissed at everyone. White Russian purred more loudly in reply. Mr. Cat Face stalked up to Stan's hands, closed his one eye and snortingly sniffed Ford's glasses, got a little cat sneeze on them. He returned to Stan's feet, draped himself over one of Stan's ankles, and began purring like a chugging steamboat propeller.

Stan played with Susan's broad front paws, tickled her foreleg-pits, rubbed under her chin. She made herself comfortable on her back, across his lap, and patted him on the cheek with her huge, soft paw. The fur on her toes tickled Stan's nose. Sparky reached from his shoulder and batted the back of Susan's paw, then curled her feet up again.

Stan stroked Lazy Susan's chest fur. "I'm good if you want to change back."

"Yep." Susan's voice was the same as her human one. She stood on Stan's lap and touched the tip of her nose to his. Her whiskers tickled his upper lip.

"You can also get lady lips so your kisses itch less."

Susan drew back and gave him a half-lidded look with her right eye. The look from her left eye was, as usual, fully lidded. "And I can get us a little privacy. Well, not actual privacy, but I can get the cats off the bed."

Susan growled in her throat, low at first, then rising in pitch. "Ouch! Watch it, cat," said Stan, for at the first growl, Sparky arched her back and poked her claws through Stan's shirt into the skin of his shoulder. Sparky gave a small, uncertain hiss at Susan, leapt off Stan's shoulder and darted out of the room, leaving him with tiny holes in his shirt.

Mr Cat Face trickled off the end of the bed like a hairy drop of ink.

White Russian smiled at Susan and kneaded the bedcovers. Susan escalated her moaning growl; he blinked pleasantly and purred. Susan showed her fangs, yowled, and flattened her ears. White Russian turned his back on her, continuing to spread his feet and extend and retract his claws, making himself comfortable in the opposite direction. Susan gave him a tap on his rear with her huge forepaw. White Russian deliberately stretched, yawned, got down off the bed, looked back once, and strolled out of the room.

Susan resumed a rumbling purr and gave Stan a soft headbutt on the face. She licked his cheek—the roughness of her tongue about equaled that of his stubble, so it was a loud, raspy lick.

Susan changed back into a woman, long hair falling down, and straddled Stan's legs. He helped her pull his pants down. Susan unbuttoned and opened Stan's shirt.

Stan removed his own glasses and tossed them at the bedside table. He tossed a little too hard, and they slid to the floor. He leaned to see where they'd gone, and could just make out a blurry cat's paw as it snaked from under the bed, snagged his glasses and made them disappear.

"Eh, well," said Stan.

"I'll get them for you."

"No, it's fine. Stay."

"There'll be cat bite jots on the temple tips."

"I don't mind. Get 'em later. Stay."

Susan lowered herself across his hips and slid him inside. Stan clenched her knee, touched her shoulder, stroked her thigh and ran his fingers through her hair, with only one hand. His left hand carefully clasped Ford's glasses.

Susan rocked her hips and found a rhythm. In his moans and shouts Stan released a little of his grief and worry. "Ford! ... Oh ... sorry ... Susan ... Susan."

Susan was breathless, but she leaned over, her breasts brushed his chest, and she said into his ear, "Don't worry."

When he came, Stan grabbed a handful of sheets with his right fist, but his left hand barely twitched around Ford's glasses.

Susan's hair curtained his cheek and she kissed his ear. Stanley held her down close to him by her arm and they kissed hungrily for long minutes. Stan came up for air and looked at his fingers closed over Ford's glasses. "I don't know what to do with these. I want to take them to bed with me at home, but I'm afraid I'll roll over on them."

"Do you need to keep them at your place? Do you want to put them in my bedside table? It locks."

"You'd take care of them?"

"Sure. No problem." Susan removed a key from a bedside table—the one with the old Pitt Cola phone—and unlocked the drawer in the other bedside table.

"They were clean when I picked them up in his room," Stan said. "A little dusty, but the smudging is because I've been touching them."

"I'll keep them for him."

********

That first day, Stan took Ford to Greasy's. On the way, he introduced him to four or five people on the sidewalk.

"I thought we were lying low," said Ford, "on account of your theft of my identity and all."

"We are," said Stan, as they were seated in their booth. "Hey!" He waved over the back of the booth. "Random reporter guy! This is my brother, Stanford Pines. I got him back. Do you want to do a feature on him? I'm sure he's photogenic. You could get a shot of him standing in front of our hideous time portal—"

"Stanley," said Ford.

"Well, maybe some other time," Stan dismissed the disinterested reporter.

"Excuse my grease spots. That darned moose got into the kitchen again and stuck his antlers all up in the clean aprons. Who's your handsome friend?"

"Stanford Pines, this is Lazy Susan Wentworth. Lazy Susan, this is Ford." Stan looked appealingly up at Susan and reached across the table to pat Ford's forearm. "It's Ford."

Susan lifted her droopy eyelid and took a good look. "Stanley! It is your brother. The missing good twin. Sweetie, I'm so happy for you."

"Me, too," said Stan.

"I'm so glad for you both! How did it go? Was it very hard getting him back?"

Stan flapped a hand. "Nah."

"He is very good-looking."

Stan beamed across the table. "Ain't he, though?"

"Your glasses are cracked, honey," Susan remarked to Ford. "I have your spares in my bedside drawer."

"Oh? How did they get there?"

"Stan gave them to me to take care of."

Ford jauntily adjusted his glasses at Susan, as if he were tipping a hat. "The ones I have on are fine. They're cracked but not broken."

"You men will want coffee." Susan angled her pencil at Ford. "Is yours the same as when Fiddleford McGucket used to come into town and get coffee to go for himself and his mysterious friend?"

"Why—I suppose so, yes."

"Okay. And plenty of evaporated milk in Stanley's. Stan, I wondered back then why you'd changed your coffee. You said it was because the local fortune teller had implanted a false memory in my head about your favorite coffee. I knew that couldn't be true, because I never forget a coffee. That fortune teller lady tried to get me to forget hers once, and she couldn't do it. But I thought you were just confused. Your jacket was filthy—sorry, honey, but it was—and you smelled like kerosene and that smell that comes with a lightning storm."

"Ozone," Ford said automatically.

Susan went on, to Stanley, "Besides, you were starving. You ordered a short stack of pancakes and didn't notice that I kept adding to it. You finished twenty-three pancakes. I asked if somebody had hurt you ... why you had a weird symbol branded right through your coat and into your skin. You blamed that on your rotten brother Stanley coming into town and getting in a fight with you. I've got it sorted out now. Poor man."

Susan went to get their order. Ford furrowed his brow at Stanley. "You told her I'm the good twin?"

Stan didn't answer that. He reached across the table for Ford's free hand, raised it to his lips and kissed his knuckles. He squeezed Ford's hand and kept it pressed to his lips through a shaky sigh, the feeling of tears behind his eyes mixed up with a smile. Ford only smiled a little.

Susan returned and put down the appropriate coffees, plus two slices of sweet potato pie. "Pie is on the house, boys. Welcome back, Science Man."

Ford watched Susan leave. "Stanley ... you and I, used to, uh, share ... everything."

"Make a move, brother."

Ford winced at his coffee. "I wouldn't know where to start."

"It's true, Lazy Susan's not easy. You have to be 'nice' and 'thoughtful'. I can help you with that."

"I wish you would." Ford sipped his coffee and glanced at Susan as she began pounding on the top of the balky pie carousel. "Fine woman."

********

"I destroyed my glasses in an explosion," Ford announced. "Where are my spares?"

"Susan has them," Stanley reminded him.

"Call her up. Right now I can only identify my bottled chemicals by their bright and distinct colors, and not all of them have those."

Stanley asked Mabel for Lazy Susan's number. Then he asked her to dial the phone for him. Next he asked her to just make the call, but she wouldn't do that part. "You need to practice making nice phone calls to your girlfriend, Grunkle Stan. It won't hurt you. And it will set a good example for Grunkle Ford."

So Stan asked Susan to bring the glasses. "I'll be there in an hour and a half," said Susan.

"You can get here a lot quicker than that," said Stan.

"But I need to make pies first."

"Oh. Okay."

Susan arrived with two pies: "Glazed strawberry pie with whipped cream for Ford, and chocolate caramel pecan for Stan."

Stan held his pie pan in both hands. "Woman, you aren't supposed to make me feel this good outside of bed."

"And here are Ford's glasses, just as you left them with me, Stanley. I wasn't sure you wanted me to clean them."

"Thank you, Lazy Susan," said Ford.

Stan took the glasses and untucked the front of his shirt. "I, uh, handled them," he apologized to Ford. "They're kinda smudged. I can clean them."

"Don't." Ford pulled the smeared glasses from Stan's hand and put them on, blinked through the messy lenses and smiled. He reached in Stan's direction, missed, and laid his own hand on the sticky top of the caramel chocolate pecan pie.

"Ford. Seriously, let me clean your glasses."

Ford found Stan's shoulder and moved his grip to his elbow. He reeled Stanley in, pecan pie and all, and gave him a long kiss.

 

_The End_


End file.
